


Adagio

by per_mare_ad_astra



Series: Light in the Darkness [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (except Draco doesn't realise because he's an idiot), Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, No plot whatsoever, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/per_mare_ad_astra/pseuds/per_mare_ad_astra
Summary: There were so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that he admired her. That he’d be lost without her and her stubborn, relentless optimism. That she was his only light in a world that often seemed too dark and lonely. That he was falling in love with her.But he couldn’t. Not yet.





	Adagio

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally a writing exercise for myself that I had no intention of posting, but it felt wrong to just let it gather dust in my fic folder, so voilà! In case anyone notices the similarities to ‘Starlight’: yes, I know they’re there, and they’re intentional. I didn’t want to rewrite that fic because it has a very special place in my heart, but I did want to elaborate on some things and improve others now that I know these characters better!

**_adagio (‘slowly’)_ **

_the first movement in a duet or pas de deux_

 

* * *

 

 

They were always the same, these parties.

Dozens of witches and wizards of various prominent families had gathered in the palatial ballroom of Selwyn Manor, dressed up in their finest summer robes. Everyone here was _someone_ in pureblood circles, and invitations had been scarce and coveted. No expense had been spared: the food was exquisite, the décor was tasteful and would doubtlessly set a trend, and dozens of flowers had been carefully picked and arranged along the balustrades of the balconies that overlooked the room, dropping petals that gently fluttered down before vanishing. It was one of the most anticipated soirées of the season.

Draco was counting the minutes until he could leave.

Partially hidden away in an alcove and wondering how long he could get away with not talking to anyone, he tried his best to ignore Cressida Nott’s tittering laugh and Emmett Bulstrode’s booming voice, which had been grating on his nerves for the past half hour. Bits of conversation floated over to him—apparently that evening’s designated subject to complain about were Granger’s new house-elf regulations, which weren’t nearly as catastrophic as Bulstrode was making them out to be.

Draco rolled his eyes and took a sip of the glass he was holding, grimacing at the taste. For all their pretty flower petals and expensive finger food, the Selwyns truly had terrible taste in wine. He considered leaving it, but then he’d have nothing to do; drinking that disgustingly cheap Chardonnay at least helped pass the time, and Merlin knew he needed that during these ridiculous parties.

He took another sip.

He knew he should be out there mingling with his fellow guests and ‘making connections’, as his father liked to put it. It was the reason why he was there in the first place—he had to represent the family, make sure the Malfoy name remained relevant, be in the know of everything that was going on and have a say in it as well.

As it turned out, this was hard to do when half the people in the room wanted you imprisoned and the other half simply thought you were worth less than the tiny specks of dirt on their tailor-made shoes. The only attention Draco had received all evening were the occasional contemptuous looks that had been thrown his way, with Walter Crabbe’s being the nastiest. He’d grown used to that sort of disdain over the years. It was the price of losing the war and being despised by both sides of it: the Malfoys were still among the richest and purest families—hence why he was invited to this sort of gathering—and they hadn’t lost _all_ of their influence, but their reputation was in shambles. Very few people wanted to be associated with them publicly nowadays.

He’d ignored those looks, as he always did, even though he knew his father would want him to stand his ground. Malfoys were supposed to demand respect, he’d say. Malfoys weren’t supposed to forgive or let slide. Draco was expected to defend his honour, the _family’s_ honour, to grasp at straws and still come out on top. It was impossible, of course, but what did that matter? He still had to do it, according to Lucius.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, and trying to wash it away with the wine didn't help.

Another bout of laughter made a wave of irritation wash over him. He scowled at the other guests. No, he very much did not want to be a part of that, no matter what his father said. He had no interest in complaining about how the goblins ran Gringotts, or about Shacklebolt’s recent decision to strengthen ties with the Muggle government, or about whatever had offended wizarding high society that week. He didn’t want to stand there among people who didn’t actually like each other and pretend to agree with their dull, unoriginal opinions just so he could be a part of their pathetic little club. 

There was only _one_ person he genuinely wanted to talk to, and she wasn't there tonight. Remembering that only worsened his already dark mood.

He put the now-empty glass down on the nearest table and wished he could simply take another one and spend the evening getting progressively drunker. Or better yet, he wished he could just walk out the front door and Apparate away, but he couldn’t return to the manor yet and he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do with his time. At least attending this sort of party kept his mother happy and his father satisfied, and it made him feel like he had a purpose even if he hated everything about it.

One more hour, he told himself. One more hour, and he would leave.

“Ah, there you are.”

His head snapped up.

It was as if his thoughts had summoned her. There she stood, her long brown hair framing a face that was wonderfully, achingly familiar, her dark eyes sparkling. They crinkled slightly when she smiled at him, and for a moment all he could do was stare, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry.

“Astoria,” he said, stunned. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I changed my mind,” she said cheerfully, moving to stand next to him, her emerald dress robes glittering prettily in the light of the glass chandeliers. “Or rather, Mother changed it for me. She’s been pestering me all week, and I realised that enduring this for a few hours would be better than listening to her complain about me staying home, so…” She gestured grandly to herself. “ _Voilà_ , here I am, extremely late. I’ve made quite the entrance and everyone’s very annoyed at me.”

His lips twitched. “So you’ve already caused your first scandal of the evening. Impressive, Greengrass.”

She curtseyed, and that made him crack a genuine smile, the first in… how long? Weeks. Since the last time he’d seen her, when they’d both attended a mind-numbingly boring dinner at the Bulstrodes’ and spent most of it ignoring everyone and debating whether the Harpies or the Tornadoes would reach the national final. It was a wonder they hadn’t been kicked out. He would’ve been mortified, but Astoria probably would’ve found it hilarious.

She now clasped her hands behind her back and leaned against the wall, grinning up at him with a hint of mischief. “Cressida’s been glaring at me since I arrived. She looks like she wants to hex me,” she informed him. “Or throw a canapé at me. One of the two.”

“Oh dear. And which would you prefer?” he said mock-seriously.

“That is an _excellent_ question, Mr Malfoy, thank you for asking.” She pretended to mull it over,tapping her chin and sparing another glance at the group of purebloods, half of which had been her own classmates at Hogwarts. “I don’t think it matters, to be honest—her aim is terrible. She’d probably end up hitting you instead, and wouldn’t _that_ cause a scandal.”

He huffed out a laugh, and her smile grew brighter than a Lumos. Merlin, he’d missed her. It wasso easy to forget where he was whenever she was with him—she not only made these parties bearable, she made them _enjoyable_.

“So,” she prompted, interrupting his train of thought. She tilted her head slightly as she looked at him, and Draco suddenly became very aware of a number of stupid, insignificant things, like how plain his robes were and how little attention he’d paid to his hair, which he hadn't even bothered to slick back. But he quickly pulled himself together—or tried to, at least. He never quite managed it when she was around. “How long have you been brooding in this dark, lonely corner, exactly?”

“About an hour.”

“An _hour_?” she said incredulously. She probably couldn’t fathom doing nothing for that long. “Merlin, you’re hopeless.”

“I’m rather enjoying myself, actually,” he drawled. “The canapés are exquisite.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, luckily for you, you’re about to be rescued from this tedium of your own making by a lovely, charming, positively _delightful_ young lady, whether you like it or not.”

“My heroine,” he said dryly.

“Precisely.” She smoothed down her dress robes before offering him her arm. “So, shall we?”

He looked at it skeptically. “Where are you dragging me to?”

“Outside. Legend has it that fresh air is good for you,” she replied, matching his dry tone but softening it with a smile. “Just let me get something to drink first, I’m parched.”

Draco acquiesced, looping his arm through hers and letting her lead him closer to the dance floor. The Selwyns had hired a small orchestra, which was currently playing a jaunty little waltz he must’ve heard dozens of times throughout his life. Only three couples were dancing and none of them seemed to be enjoying themselves very much. 

He looked back at Astoria when she greeted the house-elf that had approached them. She took one glass from the tray it was holding, thanked it profusely, and complimented the immaculate white uniform it was wearing. The creature blinked at her in surprise, then squeaked out a ‘you is most kind, miss!’ and dropped into a deep bow. This was probably the first nice thing anyone had said to it all evening, or perhaps all week. With some shame, Draco realised that he didn’t remember if he’d even thanked the house-elf who’d served him earlier.

“The wine is dreadful,” he informed Astoria as the house-elf sped away, somehow not managing to spill a single drop—it would doubtlessly be punished if that happened.

“I think I’ll judge that for myself,” Astoria replied, swirling the glass and watching the bubbles that rose to the surface. “Not all of us have your ridiculous standards, _monsieur_ Malfoy.”

“I don’t have ridiculous standards, I just—”

“Sneer at everything that isn’t hideously expensive wine made in your fancy French vineyards?” she said sweetly.

“Lies and slander, Greengrass.”

“Mhmm. Right.”

He waited as she took a sip and didn’t bother to hide his smirk when she wrinkled her nose. “I’ll be considerate and not say ‘I told you so’”.

She raised an eyebrow. “You literally just said it.”

“Ah, but not _directly_ , so you can’t tell me off.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. He almost returned the gesture, childish and undignified as it would’ve been—she had that effect on him. He settled for rolling his eyes at her.

They made their way over to the large glass doors that led to the gardens, careful not to wander too close to anyone lest they be dragged into a conversation. Draco could feel eyes on his back, bolder than before, and voices dropped to whispers as people _noticed_. He kept walking, not acknowledging them and telling himself that he didn’t care, though he very much did.

He could hardly blame them, he supposed. They made an odd pair. He was the disgraced heir of a family that was trying to crawl its way back up, and Astoria… Well, Astoria had her own less than lustrous reputation to contend with. Strange, Muggle-loving, irreverent, uncaring of her status and her family’s standing. She was all of these things, of course, and she was very proud of it, which made it all worse. Seeing her in the company of Draco Malfoy, of all people, was a constant source of gossip.

Draco hated it. He hated the lack of privacy in pure-blood circles, the way every action and conversation was picked apart and sharply judged. His relationship with Astoria was precious, not something to be mocked and sneered at because of how unconventional it was, but there was no way to stop it—it was simply the way things were.

The Selwyn gardens were a welcome change of scenery, and it became easier to shove his darker thoughts away as the lights and sounds of the ballroom faded. It had rained just a few hours prior;solitary raindrops still clung to leaves and petals, and the air smelled fresh and felt pleasantly cool against his skin. He’d always loved to fly in these conditions, even though he’d be told off by his mother for returning to the manor with muddy boots and damp robes.

He followed Astoria down a stone path, past parterres and rows of hydrangea bushes until they reached a small fountain surrounded by elegant stone benches. A few fairies fluttered here and there, their soft glow the only source of light, along with the moon and the stars. It was very quiet, the silence only broken by the gentle splashing of the water and the faint strains of music that reached them from the manor. It wasn’t uncomfortable: Astoria would find something to start chattering about soon enough, but for now it seemed they were both glad for some peace and quiet.

Astoria sat on a bench with a sigh, reaching up a hand to massage the back of her neck. She didn’t look at him as he sat down beside her—her gaze was on the fairies perched atop the fountain.

He found himself admiring her profile, the long line of her neck, the way her emerald robes complimented her porcelain skin. She wore her wavy brown hair down and swept to one side, held in place by a silver hairpin, though a couple of stray curls had already escaped it. He had to resist the urge to tuck one of them behind her ear.

She was beautiful in so many different ways. He wished he could tell her that.

He remembered the first time she’d spoken to him. Well, not the very first time—that had been years and years ago and he didn’t recall the details, but it definitely hadn’t gone well. They’d been children, which meant that he’d been an arrogant little idiot and she’d been _Astoria_ , and they hadn’t been at all impressed with each other. But after the war, in a ballroom similar to the one they’d just left, Astoria Greengrass had walked up to him and requested a dance.

He’d said no.

He’d had his reasons. All he knew about her back then was that she was reputedly weird, that she’d caused some sort of scandal not too long ago by running off to Muggle London on her own to watch a play, andthat he vaguely remembered finding her annoying at school. And why would she want to dance with _him_ , anyway? She had to want something from him, and he wasn’t going to give it to her, so of course he’d refused. He’d hoped she’d go away, but instead, to his annoyance, she’d smiled and started making _small talk_. What did he think of the wine? Was he up to date on the British and Irish Quidditch League? Who was he rooting for?

By the end of the evening, he’d realised that Astoria didn’t have any ulterior motives—she was just that inexplicably friendly. After spending two more parties similarly in her company, he’d realised that he quite liked that. Months later, he’d realised that he liked _her_.

And now there they were.

“How are you?” Her voice cut through the silence, startling him. Her eyes, when they met his, were more solemn than before, but full of curiosity as well.

He hesitated, taken aback by the sudden question. “I’m fine,” he said uncertainly.

She smiled. “I don’t mean right now, just… in general. It’s been so long since I last saw you, and I know we write to each other, but it isn’t really the same, is it?” She’d completely turned to face him now. “How’s everything?”

He shrugged. “Exactly the same as the last time I saw you. My life isn’t particularly exciting, Greengrass.”

He was just letting the days pass one after the other, each as dull and flavourless as the last. He had nothing to do aside from leafing through his family’s collection of alchemical works, trying his hand at complex potions just to test himself, and occasionally braving Diagon Alley when the manor became too stifling.

“That’s a _very_ clear answer, thank you.”

He sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Something substantial?” she suggested. “How’s your alchemy coming along? How are your parents?”

She was just being nice, but he wished she wouldn’t. Small talk had never been his forte—he didn’t have anything worthwhile to contribute.

“I’ve been too busy with these stupid parties to focus on alchemy, as you can see,” he said dryly. “And Mother is doing well, whereas Father’s spending most of his time complaining—though that has always been his favourite sport, so I presume he’s quite content.”

“Complaining about what?” She grimaced slightly. “Sorry, that was rude, you don’t have to answer if I’m being nosy—”

“It’s fine.” He looked away, letting his gaze fall. He’d been fiddling with the ring on his right hand without realising it. “We have… differing opinions concerning my future, as you know. He’s still set on me working for the Ministry.”

His father had been going on about that since Draco was little, and their need to recover their lost influence after the war had only made him even more determined to get his son involved in politics. Draco couldn’t be less interested. And frankly, that was only the tip of an overwhelming pile offamily issues he had no idea how to deal with, but he didn’t want to elaborate on them even though he knew that Astoria, more than anyone, would understand. She knew what it was like to have a parent who expected more than you were willing to give.

He could feel her gaze on him. It made him nervous—he had no idea what she saw when she looked at him. “But you don’t want that,” she said softly. It was a statement, not a question.

He snorted. “Of course not. And even if I did, no one in their right mind would want me anywhere near their department. But Father doesn’t care much for that,” he added with a tinge of bitterness. “Malfoys should always find a way to get what they want, and if they don’t then they’re just not trying hard enough, apparently.”

He regretted his words instantly. They’d been honest, _too_ honest. They made him sound weak.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye; for a heart-stopping moment he thought Astoria was going to take his hand, but she did not. “That’s horribly unfair,” she said instead, her tone brimming with sympathy.

He tried to relax his tense shoulders, to look as though this barely affected him. “ _Familia ante omnia_ ,” he said dismissively, finally meeting her gaze. “That’s just the way things are in families like ours—there’s no use complaining about it.”

Astoria frowned, and it looked like she was going to press the matter, so he quickly interjected. “What about you? How’s work?”

She arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him, telling him without words that he wouldn’t get away with avoiding the subject forever. But he was safe for now, at least. She knew he didn’t enjoy talking about this any more than she did.

“Work is fine,” she said, swinging one of her legs back and forth. For a moment it seemed she wasn’t going to say, but then she smiled, that playful sparkle returning to her eyes. “Actually, here’s something you’ll love to hear. As it turns out, a _very_ curious series of coincidences have been happening at the office lately.”

Draco appreciated her attempt to distract him, obvious as it was. “I’m intrigued, Greengrass, do continue,” he drawled, playing along.

“Oh, it's absolutely fascinating,” she said airily, her tone heavy with irony. “See, every time I discuss an idea for potential projects with Bones or Creevey, my good friend McLaggen presents the exact same idea during our next office meeting. It’s so interesting.”

“Great minds think alike?” Draco suggested, his lips curling into a smirk when Astoria’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Except McLaggen is always flitting around like a really annoying, eavesdropping moth, and there can only be so many coincidences, you know? I politely pointed it out to him the other day, to which he replied, ‘you’re not the only person who works in this office and can have ideas, Tori’. He got quite defensive, poor thing. I suppose it was very rude and unfair of me to even bring up the issue.”

“He called you _what_ , sorry?”

“Tori,” she replied, amused. “Despite the fact that he knows my full name and has been encouraged, repeatedly, to use it.”

“He sounds charming.”

“Oh, he’s just lovely. He’s going to get hexed any day now.”

“With a Bat-Bogey Hex, I presume?”

“Naturally. You know me so well.”

She dimpled at him, and he found himself smiling back. They were sitting very close, he noticed. Too close. If he chose to, he’d be able to count her freckles and find the specks of green in her eyes. It shouldn’t have been as tempting as it was.

He looked away, towards the fountain. Some of the fairies were dancing on the surface of the water now, occasionally splashing each other.

He didn’t hear Astoria’s sigh or see the way she pursed her lips.

“Mother keeps telling me to quit and do something _worthwhile_ with my life, you know,” she said after a while. He glanced at her as she continued, her tone uncharacteristically dry. “Because obviously working in Wizard-Muggle Relations is utterly disgraceful. Can’t have a pureblood girl doing some good in the world after all the damage our lot did during the war.”

Astoria’s relationship with her mother had always been rather strained. It wasn’t something she brought up often, but he knew that much, at least. Livia Greengrass had very _traditional_ beliefs, much like Draco’s parents and the vast majority of purebloods, and of course they were everything that Astoria stood against. Her decision to apply for a job in the Wizard-Muggle Relations Office that Shacklebolt had created after the war had caused a rift in the family that would probably never be repaired. Astoria didn’t seem to care.

“Isn’t she aware you’re a lost cause?”

“Oh, she is, but apparently she thinks I’ll still change my mind about being a decent person if she pesters me enough. It’s quite tiring.”

Yes, he could relate to that. He offered her a rueful smile.

It was comforting, in a way, to know that he wasn’t the only one who felt out of place in a pureblood family, though Astoria had taken that to an extreme that he never could. She was far bolder: she’d chosen a side when she was barely a teenager and hadn’t once doubted herself. He admired her for it as much as he envied her—he’d chosen a side now, but he was still uncertain, still stumbling around in the dark. And he could never stand against his father the way she did with her mother—narrow-minded and overbearing as he could be sometimes, Draco still loved him.

He jumped when she suddenly huffed out a laugh. “Look at us, whining about being bossed around by our _parents_ ,” she said, shaking her head. “We’re adults and it feels as if we’re still underage.”

It wasn’t quite so simple, but he supposed there _was_ some humour to it, in a pathetic sort of way. His lips twitched. “It does sound tragic when you put it like that.”

“It’s really quite sad, isn’t it? But let’s not talk about it anymore. No annoying families, no pureblood nonsense.” She stood up, smoothed down her robes again, and held out her hand to him. “Dance with me?” she invited. “And before you even think about saying no, I just want to point out that I’m wearing a very nice set of dress robes that _deserve_ to be danced in, and I’ll be positively heartbroken if I don’t get the chance.”

As if he could say no to her. He’d turned her down a couple of times, mostly because he hated dancing in front of other people, but recently he was making the most of every chance he had to be close to her. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

And he wasn’t going to give her a straight answer, either. He was far too fond of teasing her.

“Are you trying to _guilt_ me into dancing with you?” he said disapprovingly, arching an eyebrow.

She put her other hand to her heart, looking offended. “How _dare_ you accuse me of such brazen behaviour, Mr Malfoy,” she said in mock-outrage. “I’m merely encouraging you.”

“You’re a menace, Greengrass.”

“And you haven’t given me an answer.”

He made a big show of sighing and standing up with the utmost reluctance, which made her laugh. She then beamed at him when he took her hand, and he tried his best to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat. He should have been used to it by now—Astoria found joy in the most insignificant things—but he was starting to think he never would be.

She led him further down the stone path, to a large pergola that was overflowing with wisteria vines. The ground was slightly uneven and covered in purple petals that would definitely stick to his shoes, but it was far preferable to the ballroom. There would be no stares or whispers here. It would just be the two of them.

Astoria turned to face him and dropped into a curtsey so exaggerated she should have toppled onto the floor, but she’d been dancing and curtseying since she’d learned how to walk, so she managed to stay on her feet and make it look graceful. “Mr Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes again, but he couldn’t quite hide his smile as he bowed back. “Miss Greengrass.”

She took a step closer. He put a hand on her back, making sure to still leave some space between them, and she rested hers on his shoulder. They’d done this a dozen times before, but his heartbeat still quickened when she took his other hand, holding it in a firm grip. Her palm felt wonderfully soft and was a tad colder than it should be, but he knew better than to point that out.

They looked into each other’s eyes, listening to the distant sound of violins. They waited for a few beats to get a sense of the tempo, and then, without needing to say a word, they began to dance.

_One, two, three_. 

He’d always found waltzing terribly boring and repetitive, and he’d thrown more than one tantrum when he’d been forced to attend lessons as a child. The steps were ridiculously simple once you figured them out, and it wasn’t a dance that was open to variation—it was meant to be pretty, not enjoyable. But all of that changed when he danced with Astoria.

_One, two, three_.

She was the perfect partner, matching him step by step, moving forward when he moved back, confident and at ease. Her eyes never left his. The pergola and the wisteria vines became a blur, but it didn’t matter, because Astoria was the only real thing in the world, and she’d keep him grounded so long as he didn’t look away.

_One, two, three_.

Without warning, she stepped back, raised their joined hands and spun on the spot—a move that definitely did _not_ belong in a waltz. Her robes flared, brushing him and sending a flurry of petals flying. He almost tripped over his own feet, and then there she was again, her hand on his shoulder as if nothing had happened. He raised his eyebrows at her. She winked at him, her smile turning mischievous in a way that made him want to tug her closer and forget about the waltz entirely.

_One, two, three_.

He wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted that for some time now.

_One, two, three_.

Well, to be completely honest, he wanted far more than that. He wanted to hold her close, make her laugh, listen to her talk about anything she wanted. He wanted to see her outside of these soirées, to take her out on lavish dates or simply wander with her through Diagon Alley and see what caught her fancy in shops. He wanted to give her things and see her smile. He wanted to make her happy.

_One, two, three_.

_One, two, three_.

_One, two, three._

And it was over, just like that.

The music faded. They were supposed to bow to each other again, but neither of them moved even after they’d let their arms drop. Astoria didn’t let go of his left hand; she merely relaxed her grip so she could twine their fingers together, and squeezed. Uncertainly, he squeezed back.

He would have been content to stay like that forever, but she eventually broke the silence.

“Thank you.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

He blinked, confused. “A dance hardly merits a ‘thank you’.”

“It’s not a _specific_ thank you, just a… a general one. For being a good friend.” She gave him a sweet, nervous little smile.

He stared at her, trying to make sense of the tangled emotions her words had evoked in him: surprise, confusion, joy, and something that felt a little bit like wariness. He hadn’t expected her to say that, of all things.

“A good friend,” he echoed.

He’d never had one before—not a proper one, at least.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Of course,” she said slowly, as if this was obvious, as if he was just supposed to _assume_ that Astoria Greengrass actually considered him a friend. “You’re the best I’ve got, really. You’re… I’m _glad_ to have you.And I like spending time with you—you’re the only thing that makes these stupid parties worthwhile. I’ve missed you these past few weeks.”

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise: Astoria sought him out for a reason, and she wouldn’t waste her time with him if she didn’t enjoy his company. But to hear her say it, to know she valuedhim and these moments between them so much… He felt almost dizzy, overwhelmed by her words and everything he wanted to say back to her. His heart was thundering in his chest—surely she could hear it?

“I’ve missed you too.” The words sounded awkward to his own ears and he immediately wanted to kick himself for not being able to _say_ something so simple to her, but they seemed to make her happy.

“Good,” she said softly. “That’s good.”

Her eyes flickered to his lips. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Her lips were soft and they left fire in their wake; a gentle fire, one that spread to every inch of him and made him forget about everything and everyone that wasn’t her. His face burned. He forgot how to breathe. He didn’t know what to say, or where to look at, or what to do with his hands.

He felt very un-Malfoy-ish then, but he realised he also felt happier than he had in a very long time.

He wanted to tell her that. He wanted to tell her that he admired her. That he’d be lost without her and her stubborn, relentless optimism. That she was his only light in a world that often seemed too dark and lonely. That he was falling in love with her.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Would you like to—one more dance?” He cursed himself for stammering, for not being able to say _more_.

She seemed to understand, though. He’d been an open book to her since the very beginning; she sometimes seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

“I’d like that very much, Draco,” she replied, her smile lovelier and brighter than the moon and the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who's made it this far! As always, feedback means a lot ❤️
> 
> Special thanks to LittleRose13 for organising this fest with me!! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Tumblr: per-mare-ad-astra  
> Twitter: @astoriamalfoys


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